


so hopelessly devoted

by griefiary



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Blood and Torture, Dark Dick Grayson, M/M, Mob Boss Dick Grayson, Murder Husbands, dark Wally west, dick and wally have a thing going on that i refuse to name, no beta we die like robins, read into it how you will, the satisfaction of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29274789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griefiary/pseuds/griefiary
Summary: Dick is huffing. They let the wrench clatter to the floor, with no regard for Wally’s system of organization. He can’t really find himself minding, when Dick cards his fingers through his hair, breathing through his nose.He’s going to kiss him later.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Wally West
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	so hopelessly devoted

**Author's Note:**

> he/they dick grayson ahead!
> 
> i’m so. so sorry.

Wally bounces on the balls on his feet where he’s seated, sighing over the tray of his equipment of choice for today’s session. His eyes fall back to the man, Langdon, blindfolded, gagged, and bound to the chair -- stripped down to the dress pants he’d been wearing earlier that evening. Langdon is breathing heavy through his nose, bruises already blooming across his ribs and shoulders. Pretty face. Keep it clean, Dick had said. 

He doesn’t stop bouncing his leg until he feels familiar fingers dragging through his hair, nails digging into his scalp. “Shh,” he hears Dick say behind him, can picture the way their gaze falls down to check their watch, “You’ll get your turn in a minute.” 

Thrill slips down his spine, the glint of the low lighting catching in the blades, shadows only looming in the engraved initials. DG. Dick hums then, well aware of where Wally’s attention has wandered. “Excited?” He asks, followed by a gentle tug on his scalp when Wally doesn’t immediately answer. The weight grounds him. Wally turns on the stool, smile on his lips, when suddenly -- 

The rat jolts into consciousness, panicked breaths rising as he slams his weight against the cuffs. Dick takes a step back, warmth pulling away from Wally. It’s routine, clockwork, knows Dick’s sat right behind him, on one of the cushioned benches they keep down here. They’re mostly hidden by the low light, though the clinking of ice in a tumbler and the rich cedarwood scent is a reassuring presence, Wally isn’t doing this alone. 

Wally grips the first blade of choice for the night, a steel boning knife with a wooden grip & gold trimmings. Ideal for skimming flesh off bone. Or vice versa. He scoots closer to Langdon, runs the blade over the unmarred skin of his cheek, but he pauses. Leans back again, dropping his hand into his lap. Langdon’s breathing evens out again, if only for a moment, as he tries to choke something through the rag in his mouth. Maybe an apology. Maybe a string of curses. Either way, Wally can’t find himself caring. It’s too late now, and the anticipation crawls over his skin in gooseflesh. 

But he hasn’t had the go ahead yet. 

Dick croons behind him, makes a soft sound. “Don’t you worry yourself about asking questions, that’ll be all me tonight. Go on, honey, you can start.” 

That’s all the permission that Wally needs, dragging the makeshift gag out of the rat’s mouth. The knife finds its place pushed against his throat, beads of crimson breaking the skin. Langdon’s only warning. Not that he needed it, anyone working under the Wayne name knew not to beg, not to whimper, not to utter so much as a word unless spoken to first. His lips still tremble, and Wally almost wishes the light were just that much starker so he could engrain the sight into his mind. Fear, anticipation, in this room it was all the same.

The knife presses flat against Langdon’s bottom lip, beckoning him to open up, and Wally has to suppress the giggle when he sees what he’s working with. All teeth in place and -- oh, he still has his wisdom teeth. He knows better than to turn back and excitedly glance at Dick, but something in his shoulders or the shudder down his spine must show, because a low chuckle sounds through the windowless room. 

“I believe you’re well acquainted with my husband’s work. He takes great pride in it, you know,” There’s a mírth in their tone that Wally wishes he could just keep all to himself, bottle it up for a cold winter day, “I like seeing him happy. Some part of me hopes you won’t answer my questions and drag this on. But I gotta know, Langdon, what made you go turncoat?” 

Wally pulls the blade away, and all Langdon does is violently shake his head. Something burns under the enforcer’s skin, as he grabs Langdon’s jaw, forces it open. His other hand maneuvers the blade into place, bottom of his canine gum tissue. The sharp of the blade catches against bone, and Langdon screams. Screams so loud that Wally swears under his breath, sure that the entirety of Blüdhaven must have heard it. Impossible, of course, the chamber is soundproofed. But the thought sits. He closes his eyes, sighs as the blade drags smoothly against flesh. Another choked off scream, a gurgling sound as salvia and blood meet in the back of his throat. 

“Was it the money? Someone flash some cash?” Another hum, the sound of liquid being poured. 

Wally cracks his eyes open, with no need to readjust to the dim lighting. No answer. One hand easily finds back to the draw of tools, expertly grabbing a pair of pincers. He looks back down, finds tears streaking down Langdon’s cheeks, damping the blindfold. An upturn of his lips, grin against the light. He loves it when they cry this early. Likes the screamers. They get Dick riled up. Metal meets canine, and Wally twists, properly. And he twists, and pulls, and twists, until there’s a crack and Langdon is spitting blood on Wally’s chest. 

He holds the pincers against the light, a small pout on his lip. Only half the tooth. He lays it back on the tray, goes to hold the push dagger. He must have made the right choice, because Dick makes an approving sound to his side, where he’s come closer. Their hand is resting on the small of his back, encouraging Wally to continue. The smile doesn’t slip from his face, when he holds the blade to Langdon’s sternum, then lets it glide down, to the side, hovering over his liver. 

“How much?” Dick asks, “Quarter million, half?”

Langdon huffs, lips still quivering around the boning knife Wally’s holding to him. With a nudge, Wally rolls his eyes, withdraws that blade and places it back on the metal tray. Then, as though he were well and truly stupid, the rat has the nerve to grin, raise his head to the general direction Dick’s voice had come from. 

Without hesitance, Wally plunges the push dagger into flesh, a sharp cry ringing through the air. 

His lover sounds contemplative when he says, “A million, then.” The hand in the small of Wally’s back finds its way ghosting along his spine, coming to rest on the nape of his neck with a light squeeze. A warning. Wally rolls his shoulders, forces his muscles to lax instantly. He glances to his side, and the hand on the nape of his nape goes back up to scratch at the back of Wally’s skull. Lovesick, Wally looks up at him, watches Dick with a reverence as they turn their attention back to Langdon. The push dagger rests in his gut.

“You know, it takes guts. Doing what you did,” Their tone is even-tempered, controlled. If Wally knew any better, he’d say they didn’t even sound mad. It’s the edge though, the cool indifference, that really has Wally stiffen where he’s sitting ever so slightly. “Not just anyone tries to go off selling my expansion plans.” 

Dick had had his sights on Blüdhaven for years now, he wasn’t just about to roll over at the first sign of resistance with one foot already in the door. Wally likes that about them. They get what they want. His gaze falls back to Langdon, watches his nostrils flare, and a dry, pained laugh shimmy out of his lungs.

It takes every muscle in his body not to pull the dagger out and sink it into his knee. But Dick wouldn’t like that. So he shifts, drags the boning knife across his collarbone instead, presses the tip against a bruise. 

All the rat does is roll his shoulders, but -- “You wouldn’t make it a month in ‘Haven without your daddy’s backing.” 

Immediately, his husband’s hand is on Wally’s nape again, ring digging into his flesh, and he isn’t sure whether that’s to stop Wally from doing whatever he was about to do, or to ground Dick. Wally casts his gaze to the tray, watches a small smile crawl up Dick’s features in a controlled motion. Something pools in his gut at the sight, and he goes for the wrench. He doesn’t do it himself though, only gently places it into Dick’s waiting hand. 

A crunch echoes through the air, as Langdon’s head violently snaps to the side. The other half of his canine lands farther off, pittering across flooring before rolling to a stop. Crimson spots dot the line. Wally doesn’t look back in time to fear the second crunch, or the way the rat’s head snaps to the other side. But when he does look back, Langdon is groaning something fierce, and Dick is huffing. They let the wrench clatter to the floor, with no regard for Wally’s system of organization. He can’t really find himself minding, when Dick cards his fingers through his hair, breathing through his nose. 

He’s going to kiss him later. 

“You’ll find that you and I have very different opinions regarding that,” They flex their fingers, roll their wrist as their face twists into a grimace. Wally reaches over, presses a kiss against the pulsepoint of his wrist. Doesn’t mind the blood on his sleeve. 

Dick draws back then, casually wandering off to lay back against the bench, tumbler in hand. The enforcer turns his attention back to his work, waits for further instruction. Langdon isn’t cracking. This isn’t going to make Dick happy, and he’s already thrown B-- Mr Wayne in their face. 

He scans over the tray, admires the was that the blood has dried in the groove of the boning knife, the intials ‘DG’ a dark crimson. It lights something in Wally’s chest, nigh swooning at the sight of it, now that would make his lover happy. Wally reaches for the gut knife, lowly whistling at the damascus steel, no expense spared. 

Another chuckle, “Go ahead. Paint him, doll. I want him to beg.”

Wally stuffs the rag back into Langdon’s mouth with a faux-sympathetic coo, a familiar, welcome warmth slipping over him like molasses. The knife glides across skin with ease, and, in the end, after Wally isn’t quite sure how much time has passed, the rat is doubled over, sobs wracking through his body with every shuddered breath. His elbow has been reduced to a gash, the other one housing the blade. 

At some point, the blindfold must have slipped down to his throat, because when Wally looks up, he meets crystalline sky blue eyes, terrified and wide and glossed over with a sheen. Wally hums, satisfied with himself. He’s shaking, small tremors wracking through him, and he practically keens when he twists the gut knife, a scream ripping from his throat. Music to his ears. Langdon is slamming his back against the chair, violently tapping against the metal. Wally draws back, turning to face Dick with a quirk in his brow. 

He only nods, and Wally drags the spit-slick cloth from his lips again. 

“Desmond, Mark Desmond,” is the immediate choked name, “Paid me upfront, couldn’t say no.” 

Dick sounds pleased, given the sigh. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

It was. But Wally chooses not to say. 

Langdon shakes his head ‘yes’, wheezing with every breath, silently pleading for Grayson to let him go. But then, when Dick just snorts, gaze flitting over to Wally, does Langdon properly start to sob again. 

He did, after all, have a reputation to keep. There was a precedent. Neither Waynes nor Graysons take lightly to rats, even ones that squeal in the end. Wally pulls the push dagger out of his flesh, slow, and revels in the cry that earns him. He shivers contentedly, bringing it up to the bend of Langdon’s pale throat. 

It sinks so easy, as Wally drags it across and cuts off Langdon’s last string of half-whispered, half-screamed apologies. He drags his tongue across his lower lip, shuts his eyes tight as copper splatters over him in a rush. That feeling in his gut finally boils over, warmth flooding every nerve. He sits there, basking in that feeling of weightlessness, as Langdon slumps over in the chair. 

He sits there, and waits, humming to himself and letting the copper seep into his skin, until he feels himself being pulled back, an entirely different weight settling across his back. Arms snake around his waist, a chin on his shoulder, a familiar breath tickling his cheek.

“Y’did so good for me, Wally, so good.” A kiss to his cheekbone, as hands turn him to face Dick, “What would I do without you?” 

Wally doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t ever want to know. Dick needs him. 

So he presses closer, lets himself be dragged up to stand, he leans down, pressing a kiss to warm lips that taste like home. And they let him, cupping his cheek, thumb swiping the blood off with ease. 

When Wally pulls back, he’s glaring at the corpse, being pulled back by Dick to lean against the bench. They take his hand into their own, work against the tension there, peppering kisses along his wrist and crimson stained forearm. Wally’s eyes focus in again to feel the glass rim of the tumbler pressed against his lips, letting the liquid slip down and burn against his throat. 

He must make a face, because Dick just knowingly smiles, other hand twisting in Wally’s hair. Still couldn’t get the hang of whiskey. “Did you have fun? With the new knives?”

“Yeah, so much fun, Dickie,” Wally breathes, room starting to spin less around him. He sits up, supports himself on his elbows, steals another kiss from his lips, “Love them. Thank you.”

“Shhh, shh,” They hush, rubbing small circles into Wally’s back, when they feel him start to sag again. 

The enforcer wraps his arms around his lover’s neck, feeling an arm snake under his knees. His temple falls to their shoulder, lifted into the air. Every muscle in his body dragging him down, exhaustion running through him. A soft brush of lips against his hairline. The stench of iron lies heavy between them, as Dick slowly makes for the door, dragging the heavy handle out. 

Wally swears he shuts his eyes for only a moment, but when he opens them, he finds himself being laid in soft satin sheets, the bed dipping on his side. Dick makes way besides him, keeping his arms wrapped around him. 

The silence lasts only a moment, when Wally whispers against Dick’s chest, “We need to take care of Desmond.” 

Dick hums in agreement, carding fingers through Wally’s hair, “Nothing ever gets by you, does it?” 

“No. That’s why you keep me.” 

They laugh at that, just quiet enough not to jolt Wally back into alertness. “Not exactly why I married you, but close enough.” 

He doesn’t answer, instead delegating his energy into keeping his eyes from drooping. He feels knuckles drag across his cheek, thinks he sees a fond smile on Dick’s lips when he looks up. 

“Sleep now, love. We’ll clean up tomorrow.”

A yawn. “And Desmond. Tomorrow.” 

“Yes, love. Tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> *pats at sweaty forehead with napkins* 
> 
> i swear there is a perfectly logical explanation for this. 
> 
> (Blood is hot and sexy and cool!)


End file.
